Sunday, January 13, 2013

It all started with Passion 2013.  I think the Lord has been on this quest to bring me back to life, and I left Passion thinking about His breath and my dry bones.  Well, loving words and art and poetry like I do and realizing, once again, that all the inspiration I have in my life comes from God, I was chewing on this idea of dry bones.

Dry bones... they're brittle.
Dry bones... they're dead, right?
Dry bones... they're dusty.

But I wanted something new.  I wanted some new perspective, some new way of seeing dry bones that could inspire me to write something or create a painting of some sort.  So, on the way to school Friday, I asked the Lord for a new way of looking at dry bones, and then I parked my car, and I walked into the building.  And, among hordes of arriving middle schoolers, I fell.  What, you ask?  I fell.  Oh, not a dainty fall to my knees.  No, a limbs-flailing, ankle-bending, tights-ripping, coffee cup-flying, shoe-skidding, did-you-hear-that-cracking fall.  Kids screeched to a halt around me: "Are you ok?"

"eh.  Yes.  FINE.  :) thanks."

But I wasn't fine.  The nice looking (incidentally) doctor across the street took x-rays and said, "It's a fracture, but it's hanging on nicely." 

Yes.  For about two-weeks probably.

My life spun around me as I imagined two weeks of sitting on my butt: stuck.  It's funny how life works sometimes.  I haven't been on crutches since middle school.  I asked for a new perspective on bones, and I guess I have it!  One little crack in the wrong bone and my all-too-independent life is hijacked.  One freaky and unexplained fall, and I realize that I'm pretty alone, and I'm not as good at being alone as I thought.

But I'm getting pretty good at navigating stairs on crutches.  Thank you, apartment building.  My right thigh/bum will be amazing after two weeks.  Let's not talk about the left.

Boot.  Cracked.  Metatarsals.

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